"It was the easiest chair you ever sat in!" declared Tom.
"A regular sleep-producer," was Sid's opinion.
"Nothing like it ever known when you came in all tired out from football practice, as I did tonight," spoke Phil. "It rested you all over, and now we only have the couch, and Tom or Sid have that all the time now, so I don't get a chance at it.'
"Get out, you syndicated cynic!" cried Tom. "You're always on the 'lay' when I come in. But, Frank, seriously, this chair of ours was the real thing. It was a beaut, and I haven't been able to find one like it since. It was an heirloom!"
"It was a relic of the dark ages!" broke in Dutch. "Say, Simpson, you'd ought to have seen it! That chair was broken in the back, the seat was humped up like a camel with the heaves, both cylinders were cracked, the gears were stripped smooth, the differential was on the fritz, there wasn't a tire on it without a puncture, it had the pip and the epizootic, and, to crown it all, when you sat down in it you never knew whether you were going to get out of it alive or were a prisoner for life on hard labor."
"Soak him!"
"Traitor!"
"Put him out!"
"Roll him under the sofa!"
